“She has been so ever since your accident, which appeared to recall her wandering senses by fixing them to one point; and as her fever is really abated, I trust she will soon be better.”
Matilda hastily sprang from the sofa, and though in doing so she necessarily greatly increased the pain under which she laboured, yet she suppressed all complaint, and hurried forward to Zebby’s room, followed by Mrs. Harewood and Ellen; the former of whom was extremely desirous at once to permit her to ease her heart, and yet to prevent her from injuring herself, by adding to the inflammation of her wound.
It was a truly affecting spectacle to behold Matilda soothing and comforting the poor black woman, who had not for a moment ceased to reproach herself, since the screams of the young lady had brought her to her senses, and her invectives to the knowledge of her own share in the transaction. It was in vain that the nurse and the servants of Mrs. Harewood had endeavoured to reconcile her, by the repeated assurance, that let the young lady say what she pleased, yet no harm could reach her: that in old England, every servant had law and justice as much on their side as their master could have.
This was no consolation to the faithful negro, who appeared rather to desire even unmerited punishment than seek for excuse; she incessantly upbraided herself for having killed pretty Missy, and breaking the heart of her good mistress; and when she beheld the plastered face of Matilda, these self-reproaches increased to the most distressing degree, and threatened a complete relapse to the disorder she had yet hardly escaped from.
“You could not help it, Zebby; it was all an accident, and ought to be chiefly attributed to my own foolishness,” said Matilda.
“Oh, no! it was me bad and foolish. Missy, me naughty, same you used to be—pushee here and pushee there, in bad pets—it was all me—breaky heart of poor Missis—she comee over great seas; thinkee see you all good and pretty as Englis lady; and den you be shocking figure, all cover with spotee—oh deary! oh deary! perhaps come fever, then you go to the death, you will be bury in dark hole, and mamma never, never see you again.”
The desponding tones of this speech went far beyond its words, and Matilda combining with it the caution she had heard the medical gentleman make respecting fever, and the first exclamation of Ellen, that—“Matilda was scalded to death,” induced her to suppose that there was really danger in her case; and after repeatedly assuring Zebby of her entire forgiveness and regard, she returned to the apartment she had quitted, with a slow step, and an air of awe and solemnity, such as her friends had never witnessed before.
After Matilda had lain down on the sofa some minutes, she desired Ellen to get her materials for writing, but soon found that the pain in her breast rendered it impossible for her to execute her design.
“I will write for you,” said Ellen.
“That won’t do—I wanted, with my own hand, to assure dear mamma that poor Zebby was not to blame, nor any body else.”